**Just so people understand: For whatever reason when I'm sick I get this weird taste in my mouth. For an even stranger reason I associate this taste with much of the time I spent alone working in the aisles of Domestics at Super Target, where I learned alot about myself.
**I'd like to hear what my Target buddies think of this poem, lol.
A strange taste is in my mouth,
And it comes from being sick.
It brings back old work memories,
That make my conscience tick.
Isolated and docile,
I would fold towels and rugs.
Hours and hours of folding,
At my sanity it did tug.
Yet the time by myself,
Was time for reflection and peace.
The aisles were my world,
Built out of cotton and fleece.
No outside contact from others,
Just myself and the strays*.
For four to five long hours,
For days upon days upon days.
I know not how they choose,
Who gets to work in that hell.
They don't care either way,
As long as they sell, sell, sell.
My world is intruded,
When a person calls to scoff,
Saying their cherry red desk,
Was supposed to be 50% off.
So the operator picks up the phone,
And hands my peaceful world a row*,
"Domestics you have a call,
A call on two-two-eight-oh"*.
*Strays are items that don't belong to the area you are currently working. Target employees collect these so they can be "properly" put back.
*Row meaning argument or complaint.
*Two-two-eight-oh (2280) is the phone extension most commonly used to put a call through to departments.
3 comments:
for some - working at Target is the attainment of a dream, and their ticket to a better life.
for others, it's an exercise in "mundaneness" and a motivator for getting a college education which is the ticket to higher-paying, higher-rewarding professions. guess you fall into the latter category.
heyyy you werent always alone! us awesome red card walkers made it our responsibility to keep yall company :)
lol That is very true :P
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